


It's A Skyrim Thing

by Matteoarts



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Female Protagonist, Gen, Humor, Inappropriate Humor, Parody, Reluctant Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Reluctant Hero, Sarcastic Hero, Screw Destiny, She doesn't want to be the main character, but everyone's going to make her anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24064564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matteoarts/pseuds/Matteoarts
Summary: Falls-From-Stars is a former thief with aspirations of turning her life around. When she learns that she's the Dragonborn of legend, however, everyone around her is determined to make her follow her destiny. With great reluctance and sarcasm, she attempts to solve the many problems of Skyrim's people (while simultaneously being perhaps the most sarcastic lizard in all of Tamriel).
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	It's A Skyrim Thing

"Hey, you! You're finally awake."

She didn't recognize the voice of whoever was speaking as she slowly came to—all she knew was that she was filled with rage at what he'd just said to her, though she couldn't explain the reason. She blinked a few times, trying to clear the blackness from her vision. As she did so, she became more aware of her surroundings—and the throbbing pain in her skull.

" _Ow."_

Falls-From-Stars gingerly lifted one hand to her temple, then reached further back to examine her two horns, making sure that neither had been chipped. They ached like she'd been clubbed over the head—probably because she'd been clubbed over the head.

"You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us—"

"Yeah, yeah, that's great—could you pipe down for a moment?" she snapped, holding a hand up to quell his yammering. "I've got a bit of a headache here, and you're not exactly helping it."

"Er, my apologies."

She took the opportunity to glance around. She was in the cart of a carriage with three other people she didn't personally recognize, though she could tell that two of them were soldiers. If she was remembering things correctly, she believed that the blue-coated ones were the same people that she'd seen fighting Imperial soldiers before she'd been knocked unconscious.

The one who'd spoken to her sat across from her seat. He was a Nord from the looks of it—his skin was pale like the snow on the ground, and his hair hung in long braids that draped down the sides of his face.

"What's with him?" she asked, nodding towards the guy across from her to the right, another Nord with brown hair that was pulled back. He only wore rags in contrast to the military getup of the other two. He hadn't said a word yet, but his expression had consisted entirely of staring daggers at the man in front of her.

"He's a horse thief," the blonde Nord explained. "Got caught up with us at the same time you did."

"Damn you Stormcloaks," the other one finally growled, breaking his silence. "Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell."

He glanced over at her, his face taking on a sympathetic expression. "You there! You and me, we shouldn't be here! It's these _Stormcloaks_ the Empire wants."

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, _thief,"_ the first one spat at him.

"Oh, yeah, screw us for getting caught in _your_ mess," she muttered. She held her hands up—or tried to, as she quickly realized that they were bound together in front of her. "Look, I don't know who you people are, and frankly, I don't care. All I want to know is how we're planning on getting out of this—"

"Shut up back there!" the carriage driver bellowed at them.

"Bite me!" Turning towards him, she stuck her tongue out, then turned back to the rest of her companions again. The one in front of her stared at her oddly, raising one brow. Maybe it had been immature, yes, but she was rather irate after having woken up as a prisoner in the back of some carriage with a headache like she'd had one too many meads.

"What's wrong with him?" the brown-haired one asked, changing the subject as he looked towards the man sitting next to her, yet _another_ Nord. His hair was long and blonde like the man in front of her, but with a full beard of similar coloration. Interestingly, he had a piece of cloth wrapped over his mouth; likely what the other Nord was commenting on.

"Watch your tongue!" the first blondie said with outrage. Man, he was easy to rile up. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High-King!"

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion—if they've captured you ..." A note of panic crept into brown-hair's voice. "Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going ... but Sovngarde awaits."

She wasn't terribly familiar with Nordic beliefs, but she was pretty sure that she could gather the meaning of the word based on current context. Apparently, so could brown-hair, because he began to blither obnoxiously. "No, no! This can't be happening!"

She sighed, and leaned back in an attempt to tune them out as they approached an unfamiliar town. This wasn't the first time she'd had a run-in with the law, and she didn't expect it to be the last. But this was certainly the closest she'd come to finding herself on the chopping block ...

She shook her head as if to shake the negative thoughts from her mind. Things always looked bad at times like these, but she'd never failed to find a way out.

"Look at him ... General Tullius, the military governor!"

The last word was said with utter vehemence, and it brought her back into reality. She found the first Nord, or _blondie_ , glaring at an Imperial man on horseback who was conversing with two Altmer in golden armor. She supposed he was the one in charge of this whole shindig. "And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn Elves, I bet they had something to do with this."

"That's a little racist," she muttered. As an Argonian, she'd had a fair share of similar curses aimed towards her. True, she had no love for the Aldmeri Dominion, but she wasn't about to generalize _every_ Elf as a Thalmor agent.

"This is Helgen," he continued. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in." He chuckled. "Funny ... when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

The procession of carriages continued forward through Helgen, and she saw a small crowd of bystanders watching as she and the other prisoners were presumably escorted to their deaths.

"Get those prisoners out of the carts!" someone shouted out, some woman in Imperial armor. Looked to be the captain. "Move it!" The woman stood in front of a stone tower and, the Argonian noticed with a gulp, next to a beheading block.

"Why are we stopping?" the brown-haired Nord asked in a panic. She could tell he already knew the answer, but was desperately hoping to hear something else.

"Why do you think?" the blondie replied. "End of the line."

"You are not helping," she said, rolling her eyes at the man.

She had to admit, however, she was feeling a similar sense of anxiety growing in the pit of her stomach. She'd been quite the trouble-maker in her youth, had spent more than a few nights in a cramped cell. She'd heard threats of being on the chopping block if she kept up with her antics, but she'd never thought it'd _actually_ happen.

_Not to mention, I haven't even done anything wrong this time! A life of thievery is apparently fine with the gods, but cross_ _**one** _ _border ..._

The captain from before and another approached the cart from behind, and prompted blondie to sigh with resignation. "Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

"No! Wait! We're not rebels!" the other cried out, pleading a case for himself and her. She appreciated the thought, but she was fairly certain that the Imperials wouldn't give two damns about a marsh-dweller like her.

"Face your death with some courage, thief."

"Again, not helping," she told blondie.

"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you, this is a mistake—!"

"Step towards the block when we call your name," the captain interrupted, her expression harsh. "One at a time!"

"Empire loves their damn lists," blondie grumbled.

The soldier next to the captain held up a piece of parchment, and spoke out with a quiet voice. "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." He had some kind of lisp, or she thought it was a lisp—she'd definitely never heard an accent like that before.

"It's been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!" blondie called to his leader. The man remained silent due to the gag in his mouth, but gave a small bow in recognition.

"Ralof of Riverwood."

He stepped forward, and she was silently grateful to now be able to give him a name in her thoughts other than 'blondie'. Ralof walked back towards the prisoners from the other carriage, all of them now waiting for what came next.

"Lokir of Rorikstead," the soft-spoken Imperial read off.

"No, I'm not a rebel!" Lokir said, his name similarly replacing 'the brown-haired one' in her mind. "You can't do this!"

To her surprise, he didn't even wait for a response from the guards. He took off like an arrow, sprinting past them and up the road towards the main gate of Helgen—only to receive an arrow in his back. The result was instantaneous, he dropped like a rock to the ground and did not stir.

The captain turned back to the rest of the prisoners, eyeing her with particular loathing. "Anyone _else_ feel like running?"

She shook her head. "Nope." If she was going to die, she'd rather go out quickly by the blade of an axe.

The male soldier next to the captain furrowed his brow at her. "Wait. You there, step forward. Who are you?"

She did as she was told, but tilted her head curiously. "Shouldn't you already know from that list of yours?"

"I don't see your name on it."

She blinked. "Well ... that's the first good news I've heard all day." She jabbed her bound hands at her chest. "Falls-From-Stars, great to meet you. Except, it's not really all that great—have to admit, the whole 'execution' thing is really putting a damper on my mood. And you are ...?"

"Er ... Hadvar. Why are you here?"

"You tell me! I was just trying to cross the stupid border, and got caught up with ..." She waved angrily towards the prisoners. "Whatever _this_ is! I haven't _done_ anything!"

To his credit, that seemed to trouble Hadvar greatly. He turned to his captain. "Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list."

She could feel her mood beginning to brighten. For once, luck was going to turn in her favor! She fought to contain her jubilance—

"Forget the list. She goes to the block."

Immediately, everything came crashing down and she flared her nostrils in indignation. "What?! This is total _bullshit—!"_

"By your orders, Captain." Hadvar turned back to her and winced with a regretful expression. "I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to Black Marsh."

"I'm not even _from_ Black Marsh, you assuming, self-righteous _twats—!"_

Her outcry was cut short as another soldier quickly grabbed her by the arm, and shoved her towards the other prisoners. She stumbled for a few feet, then turned around and gave a withering glare.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," she heard, turning back to see General Tullius addressing the gagged man. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne!"

The General's voice rose in volume; apparently, he was rather satisfied with this turn of events. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos! And now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace!"

Falls-From-Stars rolled her eyes again. What was it with people in power and giving petty speeches? If you _really_ wanted to be efficient, you'd just cut the dude's head off and be done with it—

Her head snapped up as a distant noise caught her attention, as well as everyone else's; it had almost sounded like an animal of some sort. The air became silent after just a moment, restoring the quiet tranquility of before.

"What was that?" someone asked.

"It's nothing," Tullius assured them. "Carry on."

That certainly didn't _sound_ like nothing. She looked around, trying to see if she could catch sight of anything unusual as a priest began to read off their last rites—

"For the love of Talos, _shut up_ , and let's get this over with!" the prisoner next to her suddenly yelled, a man with unkempt red-hair. Red-hair walked right up to the chopping block, presenting himself before the congregation of Imperial attendees.

She frowned. If she made it out alive, she was _really_ going to have to start identifying people by something other than their hair.

"Come on!" he continued, goading the soldiers. "I haven't got all morning!"

Her eyes widened in shock. While she certainly respected his boldness, she couldn't see the wisdom in hurrying along one's own execution.

With one leg, the Imperial captain placed her foot on his back and forced him to the ground. Red-hair stared at the executioner, a man dressed in black with a hooded-mask, as the latter began to raise his axe. "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials! Can you say the same?"

He sounded rather smug as he said that, seemingly getting the last word in against the executioner. However, as the axe made its way downward and severed his neck, the sound of red-hair's head landing in the wooden box next to the block was noticeably lacking in the aforementioned smugness.

 _At the end of the day, you're dead and he's not,_ she thought to herself.

" _You Imperial bastards!"_

" _Justice!"_

" _Death to the Stormcloaks!"_

She heard the typical shouts of mob mentality around her in reaction to the execution; it seemed to be coming from Helgen's inhabitants, many of them observing the execution as if it were some kind of entertainment spectacle. Which, if the dreariness of the town's appearance was anything to go by, it probably was.

"Next, the lizard!"

Falls-From-Stars found herself glaring daggers at the Captain again. "I'm sorry, _what_ did you just call me—?!"

She was cut off as the noise they'd heard before repeated itself again, and everyone's attention turned upwards.

"There it is again! Did you hear that?" the sympathetic Imperial asked in a hushed tone.

The Captain paid him no mind. "I said, _next prisoner!"_

Frowning, Hadvar looked back at the Argonian. "To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy."

She shook her head vigorously, her eyes wide with fear. "No, that's alright! You guys worked really hard to put together this whole line of prisoners, and I think it's only fair that I wait patiently for my—"

She felt a hand push her from behind as another Imperial soldier urged her forward.

"—turn," she finished with a small voice.

With no other choice at her disposal—it was either this, or take her chances with the archers—she closed the distance between her and the block, dragging her feet with every step.

"You know, I really think it would be a great benefit to all of us if you could just review my case again! Listen to Hadvar, I'm not on the list! You Imperials _love_ your lists! _Follow what it says on the list—!"_

The Captain's face was as stony as the walls of Helgen. As Falls-From-Stars made it to the block, she felt the woman's boot in her back as she forced her down onto her knees. She grimaced in pain as she fell, unable to brace herself with her bound hands. After another moment, her chest lay on the block with her head hanging over the far edge. She was facing to her left, staring right at the executioner.

_Welp. Of all the ways I expected to die, becoming an illegal immigrant was not one of them._

She watched as the man hefted his axe in his hands, flexing his burly muscles as he prepared to—

_What. The. Hell. Is. That._

Behind the executioner, she could see the nearby mountain-range—and the dark, reptilian creature that flew over it. She had no idea what it was at first glance, just that it was _very big,_ and looked _very angry._

"What in Oblivion is that?!" she heard Tullius cry out, pointing towards it. The executioner hadn't realized what was happening yet, however, and still lifted up his weapon with intent to bring it down. Her eyes widened, and she felt paralyzed as she watched him begin to swing down—

_WHUMPF._

The creature touched down atop the stone tower behind the executioner, the impact of its landing sending shockwaves through the ground and causing the man to stumble. The axe missed her head, sinking its blade firmly into the ground beside her instead. She gave a small squeak of fright at the sight, noting just how close to death she'd come—but it seemed that she wasn't quite out of the woods yet.

The dark beast was glaring at her from its position, she was sure of it—and its angry expression hadn't changed. While it may have saved her from beheading, she had no doubt that the act had been totally unintentional, and it might just correct that mistake if she stayed here.

Chaos began to break out as the creature roared up into the air, turning the clouds black and the sky red. A storm began to swirl overhead, and she had about two seconds to process exactly what the _fuck_ was happening before she was shoved to the side by the Captain's foot, and heard the Imperials beginning to give orders.

" _Don't just stand there! Guards, get the townspeople to safety!"_

She tried to push herself up from where she'd fallen on the ground, but to no avail. Then, a pair of strong hands yanked her up and onto her feet. "Hey, Argonian! Get up! Come on, the gods won't give us another chance!"

She looked to see who her savior was, finding herself face-to-face with Ralof.

"Don't have to tell me twice!" she shouted, eagerly running off after him. The two of them made their way through the chaos to a stone tower, entering through the bottom level and taking shelter inside. Within, she could see a few others who had the same idea, including Ulfric Stormcloak.

"Jarl Ulfric!" Ralof addressed the man, his face full of fear. "What is that thing? Could the legends be true?"

"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric replied darkly. His voice was deep and without emotion. She didn't know if he always spoke like that or if he was just trying to appear cool under pressure, but—

A monstrous roar could be heard from outside; whatever that thing was, it was getting closer.

"We need to move! Now!" Ulfric ordered everyone.

She was way ahead of him. She and Ralof were darting up the stairs of the tower two at a time, trying to make their way to the top. A man was on the second level, apparently waving them forward—

Without warning, the wall of the tower exploded inward. She held her hands up to shield her face from the rock and debris that came flying at her, then looked to see the cause; the creature had forced its head in, was glaring at her with furious red eyes, and opened its maw threateningly.

"Get back!" Ralof told the other men, but he was unaware of the danger in front of him. She grabbed him and dove to the floor, narrowly missing being incinerated by a blast of fire from the creature's mouth.

_Great! It's forty feet long, flies, can create inclement weather, and now it breathes fire._

After a few seconds, the creature pulled back to address what was likely an attack on it from the soldiers on the ground. With the immediate threat gone, she pulled Ralof back to his feet.

"You alright?"

"I think so," he said, his voice shaken. Looking through the hole the creature had made, he pointed at a burning inn below them. "I've got to take care of these men! You go ahead, jump through the roof and keep moving! We'll follow when we can!"

"What?" She was about to protest leaving him behind (while she wouldn't ordinarily pass up a free excuse to escape, he _had_ saved her life earlier), but the screams of the creature and soldiers convinced her otherwise.

"You know what, I'm sure you'll be fine!" she called out behind her, heeding his words and leaping out of the tower. It was only a ten foot jump or so, and she'd made plenty of similar ones before—

The roof of the house, weakened from the fire, collapsed under her weight as she made contact with it. With nothing else to slow her down, she crashed into the main room of the inn in a flurry of splinters and straw.

"Ow."

Hastily standing back up, she quickly made sure nothing was broken, then darted through the inn before the flames made escape impossible. She ran out the front door to a grisly sight; toppled buildings, fires raging, and bodies everywhere. Out in the street, a dying man desperately pushed his son towards safety before succumbing to his wounds.

"Haming, you need to get over here! Now!"

She recognized that voice. Turning slightly, she saw the Imperial soldier from before, Hadvar, beckoning for the boy to come to him with his sword. The child obeyed, running to Hadvar and making his way out of the street right as the creature landed in it and targeted them.

"Gods, everyone get back!" Hadvar shouted, moving behind the cover of another burning building. She followed his lead, nimbly dodging to the right and out of the way of another blast of fire.

Hadvar noticed her movement from the corner of his eye, and rotated around to face her. His expression was one of astonishment, but with a fair amount of respect behind it. "Still alive, prisoner?"

"Trying to stay that way," she coughed back to him.

"Then keep close to me," he replied, peeking around the building to look at the street. The creature lifted off into the air again, and began to circle over the town like a flying shark.

_Honestly, probably not too far off from the truth. Did you see how many teeth that thing had?_

"Gunnar!" Hadvar called to the man next to him, "Take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense!"

"Gods guide you, Hadvar!"

Satisfied, the soldier turned to her and gave a nod. "Come on!"

At this point, she didn't care _who_ she had to follow, just so long as they could get her the hell out of here. Preferably without getting roasted like a chestnut.

The two of them made their way through the street, and then around the side of a house. They stayed in its shadow as the creature continued flying overhead, trying to avoid catching its predatory eye.

"Alright, move!"

Running into the courtyard, Falls-From-Stars saw a congregation of Imperial soldiers and citizens alike, all equipped with bows, swords, or whatever else they could defend themselves with. Many shot arrows at the beast, but it seemed to have little, if any, effect.

"General Tullius!" Hadvar called out, running into the middle of the chaos. With a groan, she followed behind; this was _not_ her ideal place to be.

Tullius turned from his spot near the town's gate, locking eyes with Hadvar as he approached. He also noticed the prisoner next to him, his brows raising slightly in surprise at the sight.

"Hadvar?"

"We're here to help, sir," Hadvar told him, gesturing to himself and her. She frowned. Again, being volunteered to help with the town's defense wasn't her _first_ choice, but she didn't have much of a say at the moment.

Thankfully, it seemed fate wanted to give her a boon. "There's no point," Tullius told them, gesturing up at the beast as it rained fire on his men. "We're not going to win against that thing—I've already got men working on evacuating civilians, we'll hold it off and buy you all some time! Just get out of here!"

Without warning, the General reached for Falls-From-Stars with one hand and raised a knife in the other. For a moment, she thought he was going to finish what he'd started earlier, and very much regretted following Hadvar—but then, he brought the blade down to her hands and cut through the rope binding them together.

She stared at her now-free hands blankly, then looked up and gawked at him. "Wow. I wasn't expecting you to—"

"Run, you idiot!" he shouted at her, like he was trying to scare off a stray dog.

"Right, right!" she muttered, turning tail and darting off with Hadvar at her side. Despite everything around her, she couldn't help but feel a small sense of elation. She hadn't been beheaded, she hadn't been incinerated, her hands were no longer bound, and she was on her way out of here. She just had to make it out of Helgen, and she was home free—

"Ralof, you damned traitor! Out of our way!"

She looked to her left at Hadvar's angry shout, and saw Ralof cutting across their path, an axe in hand. Other blue-coated men ran by him, presumably towards safety. "We're escaping, Hadvar! You're not stopping us this time!"

She watched as Hadvar tightened his grip around the handle of his sword. "Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde! With me, prisoner, let's go—"

Ralof ran by and called out to her as well. "You! Come on, into the keep!'

She watched exasperatedly as the two of them split apart and ran in two different directions. She wasn't even a part of this war, and she was already getting tired of both sides.

"Hey, idiots!" she yelled at them, stopping them both in their tracks. "I get that you don't like each other, but—as much as it pains me to say this—we stand a better chance at surviving if we stick together. Can you both put aside your petty bullshit long enough for all of us to make it out of here alive?"

The two of them looked at one another, stunned into silence by her outburst, then turned back to her with with meek expressions.

"I ... I guess we could work together."

"Aye, whatever you say."

"Good," she huffed. "Then let's get out of here."


End file.
